Precious Illusions
by Amarielah
Summary: In the aftermath of their confrontation on Malachor, Ahsoka pays Vader a visit. From a certain point of view. Ahsoka Tano/Darth Vader. One-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Vader hasn't allowed himself to dream for years, so he knows that this is something more than a mere dream.

He's standing in a lush meadow, sunlight warming his skin. The air is crisp and sweet.

"Hi!" comes a very familiar voice, and he turns around to see Ahsoka smiling brightly at him.

"How?" he asks, because he knows that this isn't some phantom of his imagination. Ahsoka is actively constructing this "dream".

"I've run into a lot of interesting people over the years," she says, eyeing him. "Gotta say: It's more difficult to take that 'I killed Anakin Skywalker' line seriously when your idealized self looks like _that_."

He looks down to find himself whole, dressed in a familiar tunic. When the wind gusts past him, he feels hair tickling his forehead and ears. "Believe what you wish," he says.

"Also, you didn't kill me." She moves closer to him, expression still open and pleasant. "Not that I appreciate being marooned on a Sith hellhole, mind you."

"Don't confuse prudence for mercy," he says, crossing his arms. "I was too damaged to face you after the explosion; you will still die."

She sighs, a fond sound, and smiles softly. "I love you too, Anakin."

Through the swell of sudden, visceral joy, some instinct almost makes him say, _then you're a fool_. But he's too taken-aback to formulate much in the way of words. He tries to tamp down the reaction by tapping into his anger and hatred, but it just isn't working the way it normally does. Ahsoka is walking even closer, now, reaching up to touch his face, and he can't bring himself to step away. When the contact finally happens, it feels as though his entire being is awoken - tingles skittering through flesh he no longer has.

"Is it selfish of me to be glad you're still alive, even knowing what you've done?" she asks, tracing her fingertips over his cheek.

"Foolish," he rasps out, leaning into the touch like a feline.

"I probably would've given in and returned to the Order, if you and your master hadn't destroyed it." She steps in closer still.

He closes his eyes and shivers. "What do you hope to accomplish with this illusion?" he asks.

"I just wanted to see you," she says, sliding her arms around him and pressing her cheek against his chest. He can feel the warmth of her body through the material of his tunic. "Force, I've missed you."

He returns the embrace, more fiercely than is strictly dignified. "You _left_ me," he snarls, even as he pulls her closer.

"I know." She's shaking. "But I won't leave you again."

She'd said as much on Malachor, and he'd told her then what the consequences would be. But, in this dreamscape, killing her isn't an option. "What does that even _mean_?" She won't join him, he knows. She certainly won't turn to the Dark Side, or betray her rebellion.

He can feel her smirk in the Force, even if he can't see it. "It means that you're stuck with me, Skyguy - whether you like it or not." Her hands trace patterns up and down his back, offering comfort...along with the promise of something more. "Even if you kill me." She pulls away from him, then, and he has to restrain himself from moving to stop her. The contact isn't broken for long, though.

She kisses him.

But it's so much more than just a kiss. All of her feelings pour into him from that single point of contact: sorrow, longing, disappointment. It is her love that shines brightest, however - burning through him like an ecstatic mockery of the lava that had consumed him on Mustafar. It's too much, and not enough, and he can feel it tearing at the walls he's spent years so carefully building within his mind.

He shoves her away, panting harshly. "This changes _nothing_ ," he says, even as he shakes in the aftermath of her onslaught.

This time, he can _see_ her smirk. "Whatever you say, Master."

With that, the illusion crumbles to dust around him.

When his eyes open, the world is cold and grey.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time it happens, Ahsoka is sitting in the center of the meadow, arms wrapped around her bent knees.

"It was easier this time," she says, not looking at him. "That means you didn't fight it."

He sits down beside her, the dew on the grass soaking through the bottom of his trousers. "I suppose you have nothing better to do than make a nuisance of yourself."

She shakes her head. "I have plenty to do. I'm just lonely." With a sad smile, she finally turns her gaze to meet his own. "Aren't you?"

"The Force is all I require," he says, knowing it's not really an answer. Truthfully, he'd grown fond of solitude. But she'd been correct in her deduction that he hadn't fought against her illusion this time. The reason is irrelevant.

She chuckles. "It's funny. You sound more like a Jedi Master now than you ever did during the Clone War. Don't have an answer? Spit out a platitude."

"It's no platitude," he says, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

"If you say so." She shift positions, stretching out her legs in front of her, and reaches to the side to cover his hand with her own. A jolt runs through him. "I didn't come here to discuss Force philosophy."

No. She'd come for company. His company, of all things. He supposes she doesn't have much a a choice; the kind of sorcery she's weaving requires a bond between caster and target.

A wave of sadness emanates from her, crashing through the Force - so sudden and intense that it leaves him breathless. His defenses are so pitiful in this place.

"The truth is, it hurts to be with you," she murmurs, and he can feel that she's trembling. "But missing you hurts more." She lets out a feeble, broken laugh. "I wasn't actually planning to do this again so soon, since it takes so much out of me. But...here we are."

He opens his mouth, about to say attachments are not the Jedi way, before he remembers her words on Malachor. Instead, he says, "Your feelings cloud your judgment."

She squeezes his hand gently. "What can I say? I learned from the best."

"Anakin Skywalker was indeed weak."

"Talking about yourself in the third person isn't exactly a sign of mental fortitude, Master," she replies dryly.

He snatches his hand away, and immediately regrets it. "I am not your Master."

"So? You called Obi-Wan 'Master" even after you were knighted."

Anger surges through him at the mention of Obi-Wan. It doesn't counteract Ahsoka's sadness, however, and he's left feeling a kind of impotent rage that he hasn't experienced in years. Absurdly, he wishes she would touch him again. He can barely stop himself from reaching out to initiate contact himself.

"Sore topic, huh?" She smiles sheepishly. "It's okay. I don't really want to talk about him, either."

The anger leaves him, even as her sorrow lingers. He wants to make it stop, but doesn't know how. Exiting the dreamscape, perhaps. But he's not sure how to do so of his own volition. And he doesn't have any clue about how to comfort her.

"You want to touch me," she says softly. "So why don't you?"

There's no point in lying. "I won't give in to this weakness."

She raises a brow ridge. "See? Just like a Jedi Master."

It's a rather transparent attempt to goad him, he knows, but his restraint is fraying already. He longs to feel the intoxicating swell of warmth again - the certain knowledge that there is at least one being in the galaxy who truly cares for him. Even knowing exactly who and what he is. Even knowing what he's done.

Sidious won't tolerate her continued existence for long.

She doesn't wait for him, sliding over so that their sides are touching. With that, his control slips, and he shifts his body awkwardly to embrace her. He's not even sure how Ahsoka ends up lying on the grass, pinned beneath his weight.

He looks at her face, noting the changes in her markings - the way that her face has become more narrow and well-defined. Tracing his fingerstips over the curve of her cheekbone, he says, "You're all grown up."

"I guess you didn't really notice before," she says.

He hadn't, somehow. And now he finds that his cheeks are wet.

She pulls him close, so that his face is pillowed against her chest. "Shh," she breathes, stroking his hair in a way that makes him shudder. "It's okay, Anakin. I missed you too." He's grateful that she doesn't make him say it, though he hates how she's treating him like some kind of child.

Leaving her alive on Malachor had been a mistake, he thinks, as he clings to her warmth. He should have hunted her down despite his damaged state - should have ended it then and there.

"Are you going to stop pretending as though nothing has changed?" she asks, her hand moving down to stroke his back. He isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed that his tunic presents a barrier between her skin and his.

"My destiny hasn't changed," he says.

She slides her hands beneath his tunic, and he draws in a sharp breath, barely holding back a moan. "Fatalism doesn't suit you."

The dreamscrape crumbles before he has the chance to reply.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time comes much more quickly. "You are still too impatient," he says, sitting down beside her.

"I'm really no good at being alone," she says, smiling ruefully. "I tried it, after Order 66. I knew I'd never be able to stop running, and setting down roots would only make running more difficult. But I was terrible at keeping my distance." The smile falters as she says, "It would've been more merciful to kill me than to strand me here."

Vader tries to shake off the weight of her grief. "I already told you that it wasn't mercy."

A sad chuckle. "It really wasn't." Her hand snakes over to his, and she laces their fingers together. It's with some effort that he manages not to shudder. "Actually, I'll probably die if I keep doing this." She leans her head against his shoulder, her body relaxing. "Would you prefer that to plunging a lightsaber through my heart? It'll save you a trip, if nothing else."

His throat tightens, though he's not sure if it's because of his own emotions or hers. He wants to say that it would make no difference.

It would be too obvious of a lie. "I won't leave your fate up to others," he says.

She sighs contentedly. "Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't please your master if I ended up just wasting away. I'm the ultimate test of your commitment to the Sithy way of life." She turns slightly to give him a grin. "No attachments for the good little Sith Lord."

"It isn't about him," he insists, almost cringing at the petulant cadence of his voice.

She uses her free hand to cup the side of his face, the tips of her fingers trailing over his skin with aching gentleness. "I know," she says. "But you're just too easy to tease." She traces over the curve of his cheekbone. "If you allow yourself to love, then you remember what your enemies are fighting for. And that makes it harder to kill them all in cold blood." She moves up to his eyebrow. "Plus, the pain of losing me will only make your connection to the Dark Side stronger."

Always so astute, his Ahsoka. And cruel, to spell out so plainly what he'd only ever seen in half-formed musings, buried before he could examine them too closely. He'd known, of course. From the first time he'd sensed her again, his path had been clear. And he'd not deluded himself into thinking it would be a frivolous, mechanical task.

If it were, his Master wouldn't be so keen to see the conclusion. So...forthcoming, with information on Ahsoka's whereabouts. A test so easily passed would no doubt bore him.

But he hadn't allowed himself to dwell upon the specifics, either. Like how her death would be necessary eventually, even in the unlikely event that she'd agreed to join him. Or how delaying the inevitable would make it all the more unpleasant.

He disentangles his hand in order to pull her to him, and she relaxes obligingly into the embrace. "So your objective is to cause me more pain?" he asks, stroking her backmost montral.

"Damn right," she replies, voice slightly muffled against his chest. "More pain, more power, right? You really lucked out, getting such a considerate Padawan." She pulls back just enough so he can see her twinkling eyes. "Or maybe I just wanna make sure that one day, years from now, when you look at Palpatine's stupid wrinkly face, you think, 'Gee, I sure wish that my extremely talented Padawan was here to help me finish off this nerfherder. Too bad I killed her. That was super dumb.'"

He almost laughs, but the implications are too grim to sustain his amusement for long. Killing Ahsoka means more than simply losing the chance to ever see her again - a bleak enough prospect on its own. It also means killing any chance he has of ever being free of his Master.

It was an act of total submission. Just as Sidious designed.

She must have picked up the art of cruelty from Obi-Wan, he muses, as he bends his head forward to kiss her brow. "You would make a fine Sith," he murmurs.

She shifts slightly to catch his mouth with her own. The assault of her emotions is more restrained this time, but he's no more prepared for it than before. He doesn't fight it, however, and the wash of her affection is like a cleansing fire, burning away all of his fears, all of his doubts.

He is left entirely hollow when she pulls away.

"Maybe I would," she breathes, very close to his ear, "but I like being able to love."

Through the ache of emptiness, he can feel that she's starting to fade. "Don't go," he says, pulling her even more tightly against him. "Please, just stay."

"I'll die if I stay." Her voice is very sad, and edged with pain. "My heart's already slowing down. But..." She digs her hands into his tunic. "I'm okay with that, if you are."

He releases her.

She pulls back so that she can face him properly, searching his eyes. "I won't be able to do this again," she says. "The decision is yours now. You know where to find me."

When he awakens, he knows what needs to be done.


End file.
